


The Big L-Word

by Cancion_de_Rio



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Autumn, Camping, F/M, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Ocean, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Pacific Northwest, Romance, Sarcasm, Swearing, Yurt, f/m romance, long read, middle aged romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancion_de_Rio/pseuds/Cancion_de_Rio
Summary: Kittie Cullers and Gene Trinh take their new relationship further during a mid-week autumn camping trip on the Pacific Northwest coast.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	1. Chapter One

We had just unloaded the last of our camping supplies from the car, dumping them unceremoniously on the lower half of a three-person bunk bed, and collapsed on to the adjacent futon to catch our breath. We weren’t going to otherwise use the bunk, so it made an excellent storage space. Gene had picked me up before dawn and the day had stretched into late afternoon as we drove to the oceanfront campground at one of Washington’s beautifully green state parks. We were exhausted from packing, the long drive, and then dragging everything into the rustic yet comfortable yurt we’d rented for a mid-week respite. Each yurt was designed to sleep a whole family, so it was more than he and I needed, but we had zero enthusiasm for the smaller option of tent camping.

Not keen on unpacking anything, we decided to have a look around the camp and take in the coastal evening waves. Autumn felt much colder near the shore, so we donned puffer vests over our long sleeve thermals and tucked our heads into knit caps. Gene’s hat covered his ears and all of his short but thick black hair, and I tried not to be too obvious about the fact that I thought his warm face with its bushy eyebrows and wide nose appealed to me even more when framed by the ribbed fabric. But I must have stared too long because he let out a small laugh and grinned at me, making the laugh lines crinkle up around the corners of his eyes. I could’ve kissed him right then, but he distracted me by pushing the long strands of my red mane over my shoulders and tugged on my cap.

“You look so cute in your little hat,” he teased me.

The summer had been unusually hot, and I’d spent most of it piling my hair on top of my head, so he hadn’t seen me in a hat the whole time he’d known me. He had occasionally worn a baseball cap or a flat cap, but I’d never seen him in a beanie. While his hat just had a little square printed with its brand name, my cap had little planets and green alien heads on it, and I suddenly felt slightly self-conscious wondering if I seemed too juvenile. Despite my age, I still liked cute things. I’d also been single for ages and hadn’t really worried about how I looked or behaved until I met Gene.

I didn’t get the chance to return his playful compliment because, just as I was about to say something, we were interrupted by another couple walking by with three young kids in tow. The apparent husband was a tall, lanky, and bearded white guy who approached us ahead of his brood to shake Gene’s hand and then mine. He said his name was Jim Coleman and then introduced his blonde and blue-eyed wife as Sarah. Their kids were miniature triplicates of Sarah and I forgot their names as soon as he said them. Knowing I was inclined to be bashful, Gene spoke for both of us.

He gestured toward me and said, “This is my girlfriend Kittie Cullers and I’m Gene Trinh.”

He’d never called me his girlfriend before or used any other possessive description along with my name. I wondered if it was a subconscious male reaction to Jim’s use of “my wife,” or if something had quietly changed between us while planning our getaway. Whatever the reason, his words tugged on my heart strings and filled my stomach with little flutters. I could feel a rush of warmth on my cheeks.

We had to go through the requisite explanations of how long we were staying and where we’d arrived from along with offering polite gratitude at being invited to join Jim and his family “any time” for campfire conversation or other activities. When the young family finally trod on their way to the shore, Gene and I looked around and outwardly cringed at just how close all the yurts were to each other. Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot, the little yurt village was at capacity, and we anticipated that socializing, however much we might have preferred time alone, was going to be an expectation.

Walking down by the water, we purposefully selected a path to admire the scattered driftwood and rolling waves in the opposite direction of the Colemans. When the sun was heavy on the horizon with a brilliant pastel hue across the sky, we stopped to gaze at it as wide fingers of the ocean stretched out across the sand toward us. Gene wrapped his arms around me, hugging me close to him as I tucked my head against his shoulder and put my hands on his back, squeezing him. He rested his head on top of mine for a few moments as we stood in silence, but I felt a shift him, as if the air pressure had suddenly altered, and he dropped his face down to mine, his lips brushing my lips. I tilted my head upwards and he kissed me in a rush, his tongue eagerly seeking mine as soon as my lips parted. His kiss was heavy and hungry and different from his ginger kisses that he gave me while we sat on my sofa back home. I pressed my lips harder against his, trying to serve him with a passion to equal his.


	2. Chapter Two

Back in the yurt, we turned on the small space heater and then hurried to the unattached showers while we waited for it to generate a little heat. Though we had put on warm pajamas, we were still shivering with damp hair when we ran back inside the yurt. We stood next to the heater, wrapping up in the extra throws we’d packed. Exhaustion was beginning to weigh on me but, even though we had stopped for a late lunch before getting to the park, I was beginning to feel a bit peckish again. I commented as much to Gene and he went over to our pile of supplies sprawled out on the bunk bed, pulled out a can, and showed it to me. I looked at the can and then looked at him in undisguised disgust.

“You brought canned chili for us to eat?” I asked him, incredulous.

He stared at me and looked at the can. “Well, yes,” he said, looking back at me.

The repulsed curl of my lips deepened. “Ok, first of all, canned chili tastes like dog food and, second of all, I’m not eating chili and then sleeping in a single room yurt with you,” I said a little more loudly than I’d intended.

It took him a few beats, but then his lips started to twitch before they morphed into a mischievous smile. “We could get to know each other really well with canned chili and a single room yurt,” he said, almost sneering at me wickedly.

I opened my mouth in horror. “No!” I exclaimed. “I don’t want to know you that well, sir! And you don’t want to know me that well, either!”

He put his hand on his hip with an air of faux aristocratic disdain and said rather haughtily, “Madam, I don’t think you know what I want to know.”

I lunged for the can, but he pulled his hand back and turned to block me. “I’m gonna throw that can of chili outside for the raccoons,” I threatened.

He pretended to be offended by the suggestion. “No way,” he said. “Then everyone in the entire camp will have to smell raccoon farts and nobody wants _that_! Everyone already hates the raccoons to begin with.”

“Oh, I see!” It was my turn to feign offense. “You don’t want to feed the _raccoons_ chili, but you’ll feed _me_ chili!”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “You know what, maybe I brought the chili just for me. Maybe I’ll eat the chili.”

I tried to grab the can from him again, but he moved away from me. “Nobody is eating that damn can of chili! Besides, you’d have to heat it up.”

He shrugged. “I could just eat it out of the can.”

I curled up my lips again. “That is even more disgusting!”

Gene walked over to the bunk and pseudo-dramatically tossed the can back from where he’d retrieved it. “OK, OK. Fiiiine. Nobody is eating dog food flavored canned chili,” he said sarcastically. He rummaged around and then pulled up a slim rectangle with a green wrapper. “I’ve also got honey oat granola bars.”

I looked at him petulantly but let my shoulders sag in surrender. “Ugh, fine. I’ll eat the damn granola bar. At least I won’t offend anyone,” I whined, holding out my hand.

“Am I allowed to eat a granola bar?” he inquired, pulling out a second one and holding it up.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Of course you’re allowed to eat a granola bar.”

“Well I have to ask in case that upsets you, too. I might get oats stuck in my teeth or something, and I don’t know how you’re going to react to that,” he remarked.

“Oh, shut up and eat the damn granola bar,” I smart mouthed him, unwrapping the thin green foil, and biting into the pressed oats irritably.

“Hey, I’m just asking. I already got in trouble for bringing canned chili. I don’t want to get in trouble over a granola bar, too,” he argued facetiously.

I sighed dramatically. “You are allowed to eat granola bars.”

“Oh, thank you!” he exclaimed ironically, holding the second bar delicately in the palm of his hands as if I’d bestowed him with a terrible gift.

“You’re a dork,” I laughed, feeling heat ruddying my cheeks as I said it.

“You’re a brat,” he countered, making a show of ripping the wrapping, biting into the crunchy granola, and then kissing me on my lips.

“You taste like granola,” I complained obnoxiously.

“So do you!” he retorted while grinning at me with teeth covered in granola bits, making me laugh. I self-consciously covered my mouth in case my teeth were flecked with granola as well. “Quit laughing at me, brat,” he said with a fake pout.

I put my arms over his shoulders and kissed him as compensation for being a challenging camping partner. The granola bar was not satisfying but we were both too tired to fuss with anything else. We decided to sleep off our lingering hunger pangs with a plan to make a big breakfast in the morning. It was effort enough to trek back to the bathrooms for a last round of toileting and teeth brushing.

Gene shifted the futon to a flat position and unrolled a heavy featherbed on top of the green vinyl mattress. Then he pulled out a set of flannel sheets and asked me to help him stretch it over the featherbed and futon. While he unfurled a blanket over the bed along with an unzipped sleeping bag, I tossed the pillows we’d brought at one end, and then I climbed on top of the freshly made futon and stretched out, wriggling into the featherbed and pillows.

“Oh, this is quite comfy,” I stated, watching his face for a reaction.

Grinning at me, his expression giving away nothing, he asked if I wanted to watch a movie. I shrugged, agreeing to the suggestion, and he pulled his laptop out of its case and placed it on the wood dining table near the foot of the futon, angling it so we could both view it easily. As he sat on the edge of the futon waiting for it to boot up, I put my chin on his shoulder, encircling his waist with my arms. Navigating the computer with one hand and touching my fingers with his other, he ran down a list of titles he’d downloaded for viewing offline until we both agreed on one of them. When he set the film to play and switched off the lights, I moved over and lifted the covers so he could slide in the bed next to me. He lay on his back, propping his head up with the pillows and I put my head on his. He tucked one arm behind his head and the other went around my shoulders, his fingers absently sliding up and down my bicep.

By the time the film’s second romantic scene unveiled, I could feel his breathing turn heavy with the rise and fall of his chest. His hand moved to my hair, pulling it away from my face so that he could plant rows of kisses on my forehead. I shifted myself to face him, and my hair spilled over my shoulders on to his chest as I leaned on him. He brushed the long strands away and tucked them behind my one ear, but they just fell again as soon as I leaned forward to kiss him. His head sank deeper into the pillows and he put his arms around me, squeezing me tightly. I felt his tongue touch my lips, but I pulled away, teasing him, and then parted my lips, bringing my tongue forward just enough to trace his lower lip from one corner to the other, sliding it back along his upper lip. He let out a low groan as I gently bit his lip, gripping the back of my head with his hand as he put his mouth over mine, caressing my tongue with his.

Rolling me on to my back as he kissed me, he pushed his knee between my legs and lay his weight on me. His hand drifted from my side to just beneath my breast, and his thumb brushed along its curve. But then he pulled his mouth away from my lips and sighed against my cheek with a small kiss, lifting his head to look at me.

“Kittie…” he whispered, not finishing the sentence. His face was serious, hovering over mine, illuminated by the light of the laptop’s screen, his lids blinking heavily as his eyes searched mine. I curled my hands around his shoulders and squeezed them.

“Yes, Gene,” I whispered back, more a statement than a question.

He hesitated a moment longer but finally with a sheepish grin said, “I’m so exhausted I’m about to fall asleep right now. I’m sorry. I feel really old.”

We both snickered. Neither of us had that boundless youthful energy anymore. “I completely understand,” I told him “I feel like I’m made of lead right now.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the laptop then looked back at me and asked, “Do you want me to leave the movie on or shall I turn it off?”

I told him he could shut it down because I’d never be able to stay awake to the end, so he closed the laptop, leaving us in darkness. After adjusting the blankets around the both of us, he weaved his legs between mine again and draped his arm over me as he kissed my forehead. It didn’t even take a minute for me to drift away into sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

The next morning, we woke up to a fog so heavy we could only see a few feet in front of us. The beautiful view of the ocean from just outside our yurt was replaced by an eerie sea of white floating all around us. We’d made tea with hot water from our electric kettle and gone outside into the dense white mist long enough to build a fire in the pit to cook batches of chocolate chip pancakes. Then we hovered a little longer under the canopy observing the fog, keeping our hands warm with steaming cups of tea, and hoped it wasn’t going to linger all day. We had planned to get an early start and explore the views offered along the paved pathways, but after a few minutes of freezing on the porch, we decided to amuse ourselves indoors.

We sat at the small wooden dining table and began assembling a jigsaw puzzle of Claude Monet’s painting _Fishing Boats at Étretat_. I watched Gene as he picked up pieces and searched for their mates, biting his lower lip in contemplation. He had two tiny, dark freckles on his forehead that I never got tired of, and his normally straight hair was curling up with the moisture in the air. Glancing away quickly as he moved for another puzzle piece so that he wouldn’t catch me staring, I grabbed the long bundle of my hair, tied back in a pony tail, and pulled it forward, twirling the frizzy ends of it with my fingers as I pretended to be searching the pile of unmatched pieces. Pretense turned to luck when my analytical eye spotted corresponding shapes, and then, hooked, I got lost in the hunt for more matches.

Satisfied with my progress a few minutes later, I looked up to see him watching me with his hands propping up his chin. Unlike me, he wasn’t fazed about being caught in the act. Instead, his eyelids hung low over his dark eyes dreamily and he grinned sheepishly at me. I leaned back in my chair and mocked a castigating look at him.

“Do you like what you see, sir?” I chided him.

His mouth fell open to protest, but then he grinned. “I do, actually, madam,” he freely admitted before resuming an even wider grin, though a tinge of pink appeared on his cheeks.

I bit my lower lip, smiling back at him. His eyes were twinkling at me, and I felt like I was supposed to say something. I could have commented about his laugh lines that I loved so much or even joked about the two freckles I couldn’t stop staring at, but I couldn’t verbalize any of that. I reached out and put my hand on his, hoping my touch would work like a conduit connecting him to my thoughts. A beat passed and then he squeezed my hand as he returned his attention to the unfinished puzzle.

Luckily, the fog did eventually dissipate, enabling us to venture outside. We donned all-weather jackets because it was still rather grey outside and headed down to the shore before we hit the trails. We sat in the sand near a pile of giant driftwood away from the reach of the waves. Leaning back with his legs stretched out in front of him, Gene seemed unconcerned about the elbows of his thermal sleeves digging into the wet grains. I caught him gazing at me when I turned my head toward him after a few minutes of watching the turbulent ocean waves. He blinked lazily as he smiled, his finger drawing circles around my knuckles. By his expression, it was obvious that he wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. The pause stretched out longer and he apologetically grimaced at me, knowing he was dragging the silence on.

I gave him a small laugh and shifted closer to him, leaning my knee on top of his thigh. I put a reassuring hand on his arm. “What is it, Gene?”

He inhaled a deep breath and blew it out with a sigh of raspberries. He stopped tracing my knuckles and took my hand, lacing our fingers. “OK, well,” he started, but his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat nervously. “I’m just gonna, um, tell you…” he hesitated briefly before continuing. “Um…Kittie, I wanted to tell you that I love you and I’m really glad we took this trip. I wanted to say it last night, but I was so tired, I was afraid it would come out wrong.”

_Ohhhh_ , I thought to myself. I also cringed inwardly with cowardly inadequacy. Out of all my juvenile traits, _The Three Coveted Words_ was in the top five of _Things I Didn’t Want to Say_. He was watching my face and I knew I was supposed to say it back.

But instead, I moaned, “Oh, but now you’ve said the big L-word.” I regretted it as soon as I said it. I was trying to make a joke out of it, but the disappointed expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t interested in jesting. The look he gave me made me feel even more pathetic for moaning about it instead of being mature and just saying it back immediately. After all, he was brave enough to say it to me. I could feel my blood pressure spiking along with my anxiety, yet I couldn’t make myself say the words.

He closed his eyes and shook his head and I felt a slight panic. “It’s OK,” he lied. “You don’t have to say it back.”

I could tell he didn’t mean that. If someone says those words to you, either you have to say them back or you have to say _Gee, I’m sorry, I wish I felt the same_. But if you take the second option, the person who professed their emotions tends to lose their love for you. It might not happen right away, but the first fracture is all it takes for the inevitable break to begin. I knew that from experience because I told a man once I loved him and instead of saying it back, he acted like he thought I was lying to him. It took me a long time and a few more attempts that received the same reaction to realize that he didn’t love me and didn’t seem to want to.

The problem I was facing with Gene wasn’t a lack of love for him. I’d been smitten with him since we’d met earlier in the spring, before I knew much of anything about him, and the more I knew him, the more I adored him. I’d been on the cusp of taking my gooey heart out of my chest and offering it to him in hopefulness more times than I could count. But the problem was that I was a big chicken shit. Even though I knew exactly how Gene must have been feeling at that moment, I couldn’t stop myself from being a big chicken shit, and I could feel that invisible fracture forming.

My silence lingered as I kept looking at him, trying to think of the right words to say to him that weren’t _The Three Coveted Words_ but something just as good. Words like “ditto,” or “same,” wouldn’t work because those are super lame. Nobody wants to hear that.

He got tired of waiting and let go of my hand to push himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his knees as he stared out into the grey water. I moved closer to him and put my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder. He leaned his head on top of mine, so I knew that, at least for now, it wasn’t all bad. I sucked up all the bravery I had and tilted my head so I could whisper in his ear.

“You are really special to me, and I like being here with you, too,” I told him, mentally crossing my fingers.

I could see his chest heave as he sighed silently. The silence was heavy as moments passed and he didn’t say anything. The words I’d offered him were obviously not good enough.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ I cursed at myself for being a cowardly shit and ruining what should have been a perfect moment. I was going to try saying something else, but he touched my arm, making a move to stand up.

“Why don’t we go check out the trails now? I’m tired of sitting,” his voice was quiet and flat.

“Um, OK,” I said, watching him as he got to his feet. I was surprised that he still helped me to stand up instead of walking away by himself toward the trails.


	4. Chapter Four

The weather was still looking iffy and we decided to take one of the shorter trails that was interspersed with views of the ocean and rocky, tree-lined sections where the water filtered through. The path was paved and well-maintained that make the hike easier. Gene walked just ahead of me and he was decidedly quieter than he normally was. We were surrounded by gorgeous green views, chirping birds, scrambling porcupines, and the occasional dozy deer ambling in the forest beyond the trail, and I felt like they were all tainted with my stupidity. I’d wanted to take loads of pictures of him amid the flora and fauna, but if I tried to take any now, even if he let me, they’d be stained mementos.

The overcast sky was drizzling us with a fine mist, making our hair frizzy. Gene stopped to lean on a metal rail and view the rolling rancor of the ocean. I sidled up to him and tucked my arm around the bend of his elbow, watching his face. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Are you mad at me, Gene?” I asked him, checking for hints in his expression.

He turned to me and I could see that the twinkle in his eye from earlier in the morning was replaced with dark pools of broodiness. But his face was soft, and he shook his head, saying “no” so quietly I barely heard it. I kissed the corner of his mouth, squeezing his arm, and I felt him press his lips against me, but he didn’t try to kiss me more.

“I just don’t know why you never tell me anything. Just like when I told you I like what I see but you didn’t say anything back. And then I tell you how I feel, and you won’t even be straight with me,” he explained, his fingers fidgeting along the rail before he continued. “I never know where I stand with you. Being tired wasn’t the only reason I hesitated last night. I hesitated because I was afraid of this exact scenario, but then today I thought, no, I’m just gonna say it. I thought maybe it would make you see I’m not just dicking around here, and you would finally open up to me,” his eyes were getting a little red rimmed as he spoke and he paused. “But I guess I was wrong about that.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. _I’m such an ass_ , I thought to myself. But it wasn’t going to do any good to keep telling him that I was completely infantile—I knew he didn’t want to hear any more excuses from me. He pushed off the rail and tucked his hands into his front pockets. I moved close to him and put my arms around his waist, but he left his hands where they were and didn’t touch me back.

“But I did say that I have feelings for you,” I complained quietly.

“I mean, you implied that you feel something, but you didn’t actually say it,” he said, sighing. He wasn’t angry, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Kittie, I was afraid to tell you what I feel, too, but I did it anyway. Why don’t you feel comfortable enough with me to tell me what your feelings are?”

“Um, I don’t know.” I did know even though I said I didn’t. I knew it was because of what had happened to me before. I just didn’t know why I couldn’t be different when he was so completely different from the last man I let in my life.

“Have I ever done or said anything to make you feel like you can’t trust me?” He asked.

I shook my head. He’d never been anything other than perfect to me so far. I wished that I weren’t so incapable of being perfect for him, too.

“I never know if you really wanna be with me or not. Sometimes I feel like you’re just waiting to see which way the wind blows. And I’m afraid if the winds aren’t in your favor, you’ll…sail away from me,” Gene whispered, each word quieter than the one before.

My mouth was slightly agape as I looked at him with wanting to protest, but I realized there was some truth in what he said. I did always have a little thought at the back of my mind that if things with him got too hairy for me, I could abandon ship and then I wouldn’t have to deal with challenges or make comprises. Even as I held on to him, I was conflicted by the urge to run away from this confessional confrontation and the desire to tell him everything I felt for him. I could see he wasn’t just sharing how he felt about me, but that he was also asking me to make a commitment to him. My stomach was in knots and all I could do was stand there in silence.

My face must have been distraught because Gene sighed and pressed his lips together, glancing away and then back at me. He said, “I didn’t really mean to upset you. I’m just kind of frustrated.” He took his hands out of his pockets and put them on my back, leaning his forehead on mine. I was afraid he was only saying that because he could read me like an open book and that he was afraid he had pushed me too far.

“No, you’re right, I’m not being fair to you,” I said, finally finding some words to give him. “I’m sorry if I’m screwing this up.”

“No, I’m the one screwing shit up by not leaving things alone,” Gene’s voice was full of regret but tinged with a need that I knew wasn’t going to disappear.

“You’re not,” I whispered. “I do want to tell you things, and how I feel, but I never do because I’m a complete idiot.”

I put my head into the curve of his neck and shoulder, and he dropped his head down next to mine. “You can tell me anything,” he whispered back to me. “I want to hear whatever it is you’re thinking. Like what’s on your mind right now. What are you thinking about right now?”

Sucking in a breath to summon up my courage, I said, “I’m thinking that if I don’t say the things you need to hear right now, I might not get a chance to say them later.”

Gene tsked at me. “You don’t have to say something you don’t feel just because you think I want to hear it.”

“No, but that’s the thing, Gene. I _do_ feel it. I just can’t _say_ it because I’m a big baby,” I told him.

He thought about it for a second. “What do you think will happen if you say it? Are you going to fall apart?”

“I might.” My voice sounded whinier than I meant it to.

He squeezed me tight, pressing his face against my head. “Don’t worry about falling apart. I’ll be right here to catch you and keep you together.”

“What if I disappoint you and you don’t like me anymore?” Even those simple words burned my eyes. I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

He sighed into my hair. “You’re worrying about things neither of us can control,” he countered, stroking my back, trying to soothe my fears. “Just try to focus on right now.”

“I want to tell you those special words, and other things, too, all the time, but I can’t, and I wait too long and then it’s too late,” I blubbered, sniffling more because my nose was leaking faster than my eyes.

“I’d love to hear those things. I want to hear what you have to say, whatever it is. I want you to see that you can trust me,” his voice was low and soft as he spoke into my ear.

Swallowing down my fears, I leaned my forehead against the side of his head. I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away or keep evading him. I tried to steady my breathing, feeling slightly disconnected from myself and light-headed. I put my face close to his ear, so he could hear my whispers, but it took a few more strained swallows before I could speak.

“I want to tell you…that I love you, Gene, and that I have for a while now,” I finally spilled out the words, though they were barely audible and my voice trembled with each one. My eyes began pouring out droplets bigger than the ones dripping down on us from the sky.

He moved a hand to my face and tucked his fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. I made myself raise my eyes to meet his and found them gazing at me with a heavy warmth. I could only think that I must’ve had the appearance of a terrified and wet, green-eyed cat.

“I love you, Kittie,” he whispered to me, placing his lips over mine and holding them there for a moment before pulling away to inspect my face again. “Look at these big tears,” he said as he wiped them away with his thumb and kissed my forehead.


	5. Chapter Five

A lighthouse perched on a hill had just come into our view as we wandered to the edge of the forest when the rain started coming down a little harder than before. At first, we contemplated going further, hoping it would let up again, but then the sky began to dump buckets of it over us. We pulled the hoods of our jackets over our heads and Gene took my hand, leading me back toward the campground in a hurry. We weren’t terribly far away from the yurt but by the time we reached it, we were totally soaked and shivering.

Struggling with my clingy wet clothes, I stripped them off me, desperate to cover up with something warm and dry. I didn’t even care if Gene was standing right there or if he’d never seen me past my pajamas. He was sitting in one of the dining chairs, busy peeling off his drenched layers as well.

He must have stolen a glance at me, though, because he suddenly asked, “What is that on your ass?” I was less concerned about him stealing peeks at me and more relieved that he sounded back to his normal self. I had just peeled off my base shirt, so I was standing in the middle of the yurt in my bralette, panties, and socks with my disheveled hair all over my face. I swiped the hair away as if it would help me see behind myself while I simultaneously swiped at my backside, not feeling anything besides wet underwear. Before I could say anything, he added to his first question: “Are those, like, animal astronauts?”

I stopped swiping at my behind and put my hand on my chest as if to calm my racing heart. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gene, I thought there was an insect on me or something.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, erupting in silent laughter. He put his elbow on the table as he covered his mouth with his hand, barely concealing his massive grin. His whole chest was quaking from laughter beneath his miraculously dry, white undershirt.

“I thought I was about to get stung!” I exclaimed. I leaned toward him, my messy hair falling over my shoulder, and I poked his hairy knee, but not too hard.

“I’m sorry, Kittie,” he said between laughs. “I was just asking about the print.”

“Do you not like my animal astronaut underpants?” my voice was slightly higher than normal.

He turned his palms upward as he shrugged, still grinning with his eyebrows reaching up to his forehead and his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I didn’t say that. I was just asking. Actually, I feel a little bit boring in my plain blue boxers.”

I furrowed my brow at him, forgetting my heart-thumping fright, and shook my head. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with blue boxers. I’m not judging.”

He said _OK_ just as I leaned in closer to him and kissed him. I was about to straddle myself over his lap, but then I involuntarily shivered because, despite the yurt’s heater, it was still cold. He stood up and rubbed my arms as if to generate some heat over my skin.

“You’re freezing,” he said, looking around the yurt. He pulled a throw from the pile we’d unloaded and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Why don’t you put on something warmer, and I’ll make us some tea?”

“Why don’t _you_ put on something warmer and _I’ll_ make us some tea?” I felt bad because he was always the one doing things for me.

He laughed at me. “Do you want to argue about it?”

I dropped my mouth open slightly as I thought about it and reluctantly admitted, “ _Noooo_.”

“Then I’ll make the tea,” he was already moving over to fill the electric kettle with water before I could protest further.

I tsked at him, but I dug out a new set of dry underwear, socks, and clothes. This time he kept his eyes averted while I changed. Then he left the tea to steep and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. When I looked up again, there were two steaming mugs on the table with tagged strings hanging over them, and the smell of chamomile filled the yurt. Gene was looking out the window at the rain. I stood behind him and circled my arms around his waist, leaning my head on his shoulder as I peered outside. The rain was leaving huge puddles on the ground that were creeping beneath the porch canopy.

“I don’t think we’re going to explore the trails much today,” Gene remarked.

“Hmm,” I murmured, pressing my lips into the curve of his neck, spying another dark freckle on his tan skin. “Well, we could explore each other instead.”

He kissed my forehead and said, “You wouldn’t even have to twist my arm.”


	6. Chapter Six

In the evening, the rain had finally moved on, so we were about to make use of the grill and have a fireside dinner, but our yurt neighbor Jim called out to us, waving us over. The Colemans and another family of campers were circled round their already blazing fire. Gene and I exchanged a glance. The whole camping plan was to get away from friends, colleagues, work, and general urban chaos so we could relax together in the serenity of nature. Campfire stories with the neighboring travelers wasn’t part of the agenda. Being the more sociable one, I wasn’t surprised when Gene shrugged, raising his eyebrows in a _why-not_ expression, and I sighed in surrender. Carrying over our folding chairs and tote of wine and food, we joined the two couples and their band of children despite the _Dreaded Questions_ we knew they would barrage us with.

A round of introductions ensued with the names of so many, including the other couple’s four small children, that I was unable to remember any of them except Jim and Sarah’s. The seven children were scattered, riding tiny bicycles, playing with balls or sand buckets to amuse themselves while the boring adults chatted amongst themselves and prepped their dinner. It made me nervous the way the kids seemed to be all over the place unsupervised, but that was probably due to my overprotective tendencies even with young people who didn’t belong to me. I could barely focus on the adults because I was too busy trying to watch their children for them.

The other husband was a rotund and bearded man with long, scraggly brown hair. He was wearing a Metallica t-shirt that barely covered his round belly and had a hole about the size of a quarter near its hem, exposing a section of his white skin. He had a plaid long sleeve shirt over it that also served as a wipe for his endlessly runny red nose. The sight of him made me think of a cave man despite his modern apparel. The way he held up an entire, recently deceased fish speared by a metal skewer to inquire if we were interested in eating it, or one of its cousins, also contributed to his neanderthal nature.

Gene and I spoke and waved our hands almost simultaneously. “Oh, no thanks,” We said. “We’re vegetarians.”

The man looked at us as if we were inhuman and he blinked a few times, seeming unsure whether he should be insulted. Finally, he shrugged and put the hapless fish back with the others he had on ice. We reiterated our appreciation at his offering but added that we had our own meals. He tried a different tactic by holding up a beer that he dug out of the ice in another container, and although I refused that gesture as well, Gene was happy to oblige him. The Neanderthal’s wife was wearing a tie-dyed broom skirt with a boxy sweater over it, and she leaned around her husband commenting about men and their beer. I never minded Gene’s occasional beers, and, rarely, I even joined him with the odd craft beer, but I smiled at her and showed her the bottle of wine from our tote.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” she said.

“Here, let me,” Gene said, placing his bottle of beer on the ground. He popped the cork off the wine and poured us generous servings in our very non-fancy, not-made-for-wine cups.

The tie-dyed wife seemed impressed with my partner’s geniality because she opined, “I think you have yourself a keeper there.”

I smiled at her again, but I blushed, reminded of the emotional conversations earlier in the day, and I looked up at Gene. He glanced back at me with knowing eyes, then looked toward the woman as he tucked the bottle into the tote and said, “I’m doing everything I can to keep _her_.”

The other two couples both laughed and made remarks about his comment as he kissed my cheek, but I didn’t hear them because I was too busy watching him and realizing that that was why he always insisted on doing everything for me. All summer I’d fretted and kept things to myself because I was preoccupied with feeling anxious while he was busying himself with trying to be perfect so I wouldn’t run away. Instinctively, I put my hand on his knee, still trying to convey my emotions with my touch. He put his hand over mine and winked at me.

As we were talking with the other two couples, one of the unruly, roaming kids tumbled over on her tiny bike, alarming me, and I gripped the arms of my chair, ready to bolt out of it, but Jim jumped up and ran over to her. He got her back on her feet and when he put the bike upright, she raced off again before he could even check her for cuts and bruises. I sighed silently with relief and started to turn back to the adults, but I caught Gene’s sidelong glance over his beer bottle from the tot to me. He was a little tipsy, and the corner of his lips turned up as he moved the bottle away from his mouth and stared at me with that tiny smile, but he didn’t say anything despite my querying expression.

I felt slightly more at ease when all the kids gathered closer around the fire to eat their dinners and roast marshmallows. Metallica Man’s wife must have noticed my nervous observation of them as they’d run around like hooligans and she asked if Gene and I wanted to have kids of our own. Gene and I both laughed, exchanging knowing glances. Gene’s grey streaks were hidden under his cap, and the alien motifs on my hat probably made me look much younger than I was since the low firelight likely masked the slowly multiplying lines on my face. People who didn’t know us well often thought we were a young couple until they had a better look at us. Sometimes, we didn’t like to disabuse anyone of that idea, and we opted to play into that mystery with our neighboring campers as well by vaguely saying kids weren’t currently on the agenda. The reality was that I wouldn’t be bearing any miniature replications of us without costly and risky medical intervention. I wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about that concept regardless of scientific advances. Plus, as much as I liked young people, I usually felt like I was too much of a kid myself to be responsible enough.


	7. Chapter Seven

The tie-dye clad woman’s question made my brain start churning, though. Neither Gene nor I had kids between us despite our past relationships. I sometimes wondered whether he had any procreative inclinations that he hadn’t mentioned, but I hadn’t wanted to ask him because I was afraid to find out the answer. Dating at my age had proved frustrating for quite a long time before I met him because men either had young children that I didn’t want to be second mother to, or men wanted a much younger woman to produce children for them. There were also the men who’d never had kids and liked their responsibility-free life so much that they really weren’t even looking for a woman to be attached to; they just wanted a woman for a kind of brief intimacy that I wasn’t interested in. Mostly I was just interested in finding someone for conversation and companionship. Gene surprised me by giving me both and more. Now he’d given me the big _L-word_ and it had been hard enough to verbally reciprocate. I wondered what else he might want that I wouldn’t be able to give him even if I wanted to.

Back in our yurt, I cleaned out the tote while Gene packed away our used storage bowls and utensils. I didn’t realize there was a silence in the air until he asked me what I was thinking about. When I looked up, startled by the question, he was smiling at me over his shoulder as if he’d been observing me for a while. My fingers played with one of my earrings while I tried to assemble the words that I couldn’t avoid. I’d already upset him earlier with my childish antics over simple words and I didn’t want to do that again. He raised his eyebrows as he zipped up the bag he was tucking everything in, waiting for me to answer him.

“Um, well, I just wondered if maybe you ever felt disappointed with me,” I started. I could see the confusion in his eyes. “I mean, because of my age. Like, did you want to find someone younger than me?”

“Why would I say the things I told you earlier today if I wanted someone else?” He asked, scratching his head, clearly even more puzzled. I knew I wasn’t being clear.

Blowing out a breath, I just laid it out for him. “Because it’s highly unlikely that I’d be able to give you any kids at my age.”

He closed his eyes and I watched the realization wash over his face as he connected my pensive mood to the woman’s questions at dinner. Then he opened his eyes and grabbed the belt loops on my jeans, pulling me up close to him. He smiled at me as he put his arms around my waist, gazing at me warmly. Up close, the laugh lines branching out at either side of his eyes suddenly seemed deeper, and more aged than I’d ever noticed. Maybe, like strangers often did, I’d mistaken the tolls of time etched in his features for little more than daily weariness.

“If I’d really wanted to have kids, I would’ve done that by now.” he assured me. But then Gene furrowed his thick brows at me, seeming to have a thought. “What about you, Kittie?” He asked. “You were really watching all those kids.”

That question made me nervous again because then I had to confess other little things that fleeted through my mind on rare nights when I lay awake overanalyzing the course of my life. “Sometimes I wish I’d done things differently,” I lamented.

He was silent for a minute as he considered the implications in that remark, studying me. “Well, I know it’s kind of early days, but if you ever want things to change, we can always talk about it. I’m sure there are options we could explore,” he told me. “Just so you know. I don’t want you to think I’m inflexible. I mean if I’m the person you’d want to do something like that with.”

I smiled but I shrugged. “They’re just little thoughts. Most of the time, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with any of that. I like that it’s just us.”

“I’m totally OK with that, too,” he smiled again and squeezed me tighter. “I think you worry too much, and that you like to keep all those worried little thoughts hidden in your head.”

“I think you’re a little bit drunk,” I said, hugging him.

He grinned at me. “I _am_ a little drunk,” he agreed. “But I still know what I’m saying. I’ll say the same thing tomorrow.”

I didn’t argue with him; he was probably right. I’d never known him to drink so much he forgot the night before, and there was nothing to indicate tonight was any different. Plus, he was not wrong about the way I kept things to myself, though I had somehow thought I was not that obvious about it. All I could do was look at him in silence with a little smile. His face was close to mine and I could smell the mixture of beer, marshmallows, and smoke from the fire lingering on him, his breath minty from the square of gum I’d given him after dinner. Tilting his head, his lips brushed mine as I let my mouth fall slightly open with anticipation and waited until he gave me his familiar ginger kisses.


	8. Chapter Eight

On our last day, we found the skies clear and blue as we loaded the car again and checked the yurt for any residual tidying needed. Though the air was still crisp, we made a final visit to the shore where we removed our shoes and rolled up our jeans, letting our bare feet sink into the sand as the chilly ocean waves washed over them. Gene held my hand, occasionally pulling me along to chase the receding water or further along the beach. He only let me go to pick up a long, slender piece of driftwood which he used to draw a large heart-shaped line around me in the soil. Then he stood in the center of it with me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he tilted his head and kissed me while the water rushed up against us, soaking the ends of our jeans and legs.

And I found that once I’d whispered _The Three Coveted Words_ to him, they rolled off my tongue with ease. I let the sea steal away my anxieties as I relaxed against his side, resting my cheek on his soft sweater, feeling the warmth of his body. When I caught his eyes gazing at me, I sunk into depths that hadn’t existed before. I couldn’t know what he saw in mine, but his face softened and melted into a smile every time he peered into them, compelling me to whisper the big _L-word_ in his ear and asking if he was going to get tired of me saying it. He said that would be impossible because he loved me, and he loved hearing me say it to him.

Returning to the campground, we washed our feet in the showers and swapped our sandy and salty, wet jeans for dry ones. We didn’t see our camp neighbors before we left, but we assumed that they had taken advantage of the nice weather to take Jim’s boat out. While roasting marshmallows over the fire, the two couples had mentioned wanting to go out on it and had invited us to join them, though we drew the line at being stuck socializing for hours out at sea and had declined.

Our bones were too weary for walking more trails, so we drove around to the other side of the camp near the second lighthouse and walked up to the bluff it was perched on, overlooking the ocean. I grumbled about the steep incline that Gene had to help me navigate at points, laughing at me the whole time, but the view once we reached the top was worth the effort. The tumultuous waves crashing against the rocks below were gorgeous enough, but we had a better view of all the spruce and pine trees encircling the campground as well. Up close, we could see that the lighthouse was severely eroded by the coastal weather and passage of time. Down below in the cove, several seals had taken a break from fishing and were barking loudly.

I could finally snap photos of Gene or with him that I wouldn’t cringe over when looking at later—no hurt eyes or set jawlines, just his face genuinely glowing and full of happiness to look at me and be recorded. I was glad that we had worked through the things that had been bothering both of us. The spontaneous decision to step outside our comfort zone had significantly strengthened what we’d been building since we’d met.

Hugging me as we stood outside the white but battered lighthouse, he suggested, “We should come back here in the summer so we can explore it better and not freeze.”

It didn’t take too much math to figure out summer was nearly a year away, and he was already making plans for it. I bit my lower lip and gave him a skewed smile. “OK, but there’s some cabins and vintage trailers in a nearby retreat that sounds maybe a little more glamp-worthy than the yurt,” I told him.

“What, you didn’t like the yurt?” he asked in faux shock.

I laughed. “No, it was alright, just maybe not as comfortable as I’d like. Plus, there’s hot tubs and kayaking at the retreat. We can always drive over here and do the trails or visit the oceanfront, then relax in the hot tubs.”

“Damn, we should’ve stayed there this time. A hot tub sounds really good right now,” he said.

“Well, we’re just gonna have to wait till we get back to my apartment and we can use the indoor hot tub,” I said.

He thought about that a second and sniffed as his lips twitched the way they did when he had mischievous ideas. “That sounds really inviting. But I might be lulled half to sleep after that. I might not want to go home.”

“Hmm,” I teased him, giving him my own naughty smile. “You might have to come upstairs and fall asleep in my bed.”

“Are you suggesting that we can have a sleep over?” His mouth hung open slightly in mock surprise.

Laughing at him again, I teased him with my customary feigned formality, “I believe we just did have a sleep over, _sir_.”

“Yes, _madam_ , but that was in the yurt. I’ve never slept over at your apartment,” he was happy to repay my formal language with the same tone, though the rest of what he said had a slightly more serious note.

“Well you never asked,” I scoffed playfully.

“Well I was too chicken shit to ask,” he confessed, making us both snicker.

“No, you’re allowed to ask,” I assured him.

“Wow, I’m so glad we took this trip,” he said, biting his lower lip. “I’m learning all kinds of things I didn’t know.”

“Me, too,” I concurred. He responded to that with a series of his ginger kisses.

When we’d had enough of the coastal winds chapping our cheeks and captured a final mental snapshot of the waves lapping the rocks, we traipsed back to the parking lot. We practically slid down the steep part of the hill as he walked in front of me to brace me and laughed at me every time I squealed with fright as my feet lost their grip on the gravel. I declared I was never going to climb up the bluff again, and he told me not to worry because he’d be right next to me making sure I made it safely up and back down just like he was doing right then. And I couldn’t argue with that.

“Gene,” I said to him with a serious tone once we were in the car, just as he was pulling his seat belt over his lap and securing it with a click. He looked up at me with a trace of worry, waiting for me to go on. “I just want you to know that I’m really fucking hungry now,” I told him and started laughing.

His face broke out into a grin. “Don’t you want another granola bar, Kittie?” he asked, pretending to be serious.

“Oh my god,” I moaned. “No, I do not want to see another granola bar for at least a year. I want some real fucking food.”

He laughed. “Ok, I’m gonna stop at the first restaurant with a sign that says _We serve real fucking food here_ , so I can get my girlfriend some proper food.”

“And not fucking chili,” I warned him.

“Ok, I’m gonna stop at the first restaurant with a sign that says _We serve real fucking food and we do NOT serve fucking chili here_ ,” he joked as he turned over the ignition and looked over his shoulder to back out of the parking space, glancing at me and flashing another of his heart-warming grins.


End file.
